Love is Darkness (A Valerie Dearborn Novel) (40 page)

He gave a cry of rage and turned, fury driving him on. Lucas gave ground, let the man push him backwards.

“You know, she wasn’t a real red head.” Lucas taunted casually.

His opponent yelled in rage, swinging harder and faster until his punches and lunges became sloppy.

Val had never seen him like this: playful and murderous. Was this the real Lucas?

Lucas grabbed the man's arm and threw him to the ground, pulling until the man’s arm broke and hung at an odd angle. His foot was on the back of the man's head, and another sickening crunch reverberated off the walls, as his neck re-broke. And then Lucas flipped him over, his hand in a fist as he slammed it into the man's chest, punching through his ribcage.

Everyone seemed to draw a breath at once, one woman clutching her chest sympathetically. Then they exhaled and the action resumed, the audience rustling like disturbed snakes, honing in on the death before them. Lucas pulled his hand out of the vampire’s body, the heart clenched tight in his fist. Then it was all ash, and it spilled from Lucas’ fingers like confetti.

Val stared at Lucas. His face was haggard, harsh lines bracketing his mouth as he dusted his hands. He was half turned from the crowd and she could see his profile, the intensity and determination of him but also, a growing black stain at his side.

It was the wound from the night before and it was seeping, expanding as she watched, like an oil slick in the ocean. Was there something she could do to interrupt the Challenge? Some way to take a break and bandage his wound in hopes that no one else would notice?

As though he knew what she was thinking, he turned to her and shook his head once.

No.

There was no stopping. He turned and faced the crowd. Marion grabbed Rachel’s hand excitedly and whispered in her ear loudly, a stage whisper that carried throughout the room, “Look, he’s hurt. Didn’t I tell you he was
weak.
”

Lucas ignored them and another man shuffled out of the crowd. He was a thin man of medium build who was so nondescript that as soon as Valerie looked away from him she could barely remember what he looked like. She imagined he’d been a tailor or an accountant in a previous life. He certainly didn’t seem like a threat to Lucas.

“Edgar.” Lucas put a hand on his shoulder. “You Challenge me of your own free will?
A contest to the death?”

Edgar flushed and opened his hands nervously. “Yes. Yes I do.
The Fey, the wolves.
It's lunacy, Lucas. I stood by you as we cut them down.
One after the other, all that time ago.”

His voice was wistful, as though lost in remembrance of the battles they had fought together. “Remember, the moon guiding our blades to victory...and you... when the Black Witch took my son, you were there. You cried with me. But now you are not the warrior you were. To seek out that which we destroyed, make them prosper again—
why
?

Surprisingly, Lucas bowed to him. “My friend, I ask you to rescind your Challenge.”

The man gave a rueful smile. “My Lord, for the love I bear you, I
beg
you to not pursue the Fey nor the wolves. Life is still exciting enough without creating danger.”

Lucas shook his head in soft denial. “There you are wrong, my friend. We have become like petulant children, destroying the world and humans for a pleasure without boundaries. If anyone is to understand my motives, it should be you.” The man gritted his teeth and looked away from Lucas, the conversation at an end.

Lucas stepped back, no longer the friend, but the king. “How would you Challenge me?”

The man gave a little nod and called for his weapon. A guard came forward, offering a sword. He took it, raised it to his lips and kissed the blade, the silver metal smoking as it made contact with his flesh.

Another guard came forward, handing Lucas a huge broadsword. It was so large and heavy that Valerie knew she wouldn't be able to lift it, let alone wield the thing.

Not that anyone wanted her to fight.

Lucas swung the sword in a lazy arc, testing the heft of it in a practiced move before meeting Edgar in the middle of the room. The people in the front row, closest to the action, looked a little nervous about the two men fighting right in front of them. A guard thumped the ground with his staff, signaling the start of their fight.

Lucas smiled grimly and assumed a fighting stance, giving no indication that he felt the wound in his side, which was now dripping onto the floor.
 
With a harsh clang Edgar’s sword crashed into Lucas’.

Lucas braced himself and turned, twisting his weapon so that Edgar’s blade was deflected to the side.
 
He thrust forward, but Edgar danced back, blocking the thrust and twisting into an attack that pushed Lucas backwards, his sword flashing through the air like lightning.

Lucas was graceful, his body well balanced, the moves and steps more like a ballet than a fight. With each lunge his back was straight and rigid, his thigh muscles bunching with each step.

Valerie was disheartened to realize that she was fixating on Lucas’ hotness instead of the battle to the death that was going on in front of her. She closed her eyes, wanting to block him out: like looking away from the sun.

Edgar was good.
Even if he did look like a harried businessman.
He was stealthy and fast. But Lucas was a force, unstoppable and inexorable, parrying the blows easily, toying with Edgar until Edgar put a foot wrong, allowing Lucas to lunge in for the kill.

But the smaller man feinted to the side, dropping to the ground heavily while thrusting his sword into the side of Lucas' already bleeding body. With a roar Lucas recoiled, Edgar’s blade glinting with blood.

Lucas gave a snarl of rage, like a wounded animal, as Edgar rolled to his feet and tried to press his advantage, rushing forward and aiming for Lucas' heart.

Lucas stumbled to the side, tilting away from the killing blow so that it ripped his shirt and grazed his chest but didn't enter his body. The force of Edgar's missed thrust carried him forward, into the emptied chairs. Lucas whirled, his sword sinking into Edgar’s torso, just above his belly button, before exiting out near his shoulder.

Lucas didn’t draw his blade free, but stood close to his friend, almost like he was shielding him from the crowd. A look of sad surprise crossed Edgar's face as his features dulled and then dried,
 
falling towards Lucas who, discarding his sword, attempted to catch him before he turned to dust. But it was too late. Edgar was gone, ash raining down on Lucas’ arms and feet.

He wiped the ash across his chest, over his heart, smearing the bloody scrape Edgar had made with the man’s ashes, as though making Edgar a part of him.
 
 

Valerie felt Lucas’ pain crash into her as his mental shields lowered for a moment. His side blazed with pain, but it was nothing compared to the grief that overcame him for having to kill his friend.

A dozen images passed through her mind, like rocks skipping over the still surface of a cold lake: Lucas and Edgar on horseback talking, them both drinking blood from the same woman, Lucas pressed to her front as Edgar was pressed to her back, Edgar kneeling over a body and weeping while Lucas watched and stood guard, protecting his grieving friend. Then the memories were zipped away from her and she felt like a voyeur.

Lucas walked back to the dais, his sword held loosely in one hand. His gaze caught hers, held her so that she was unable to look away as he advanced towards her in a graceful, predatory walk.

He’s going to drink me now.

His brows lifted in a slight look of amusement and disdain that was undermined by the copious amounts of blood that trailed from him and dripped to the floor.

She wondered how severe his injury was, but his gaze said something different:
look how easy this is
.

He handed the sword back to the guard before heading back to the center of the room and making a low bow to Marion. Lucas extended his hand to her, “My love?” His voice was dark and seductive, a quiet ruthlessness underlying his tone.

Marion jerked out of her chair and stalked towards him in a fury. Things had obviously gone much worse that she'd expected.

She'd been a fool for doing this and her expression said that she knew it.

As Marion neared Lucas he closed his eyes, his brows pulled together in a frown. She stopped and seemed to shrink back for a moment before forcing herself to move forward again. He made a disappointed noise in his throat and spoke in a clear voice. “Who helped you? I smell the power and know you are no longer second to Rachel in power. Tell me who.”

Marion gasped, her gaze jerking back to Rachel and around the room, seeking out those who'd donated blood and power to her cause.

Frozen in place, she didn’t speak.

“Why don’t you whisper it to me?” he said.

She gave a little nod and he leaned in listening while she said something to him. He nodded and looked around the room.

The audience was still, like wax figurines. Marion licked her lips in a nervous gesture, “What about me?”

“What about you?” he said with obvious disgust.
 
The accent was back, his words having an odd cadence.

“You would not spare me also?” Her voice was hesitant.

“You are the organizer of this treason. How could I spare you after this?
With all these witnesses.
Have a care for your memory, Marion. Where is your
conviction
?” he mocked.

Marion blinked rapidly, her chest rising and falling as she breathed quickly. Her voice was breathy and distant, “Me, Margaret, my little girl...all those years, all our time together. You couldn't. You couldn’t be so cruel to me.”

Valerie wondered if Marion was that crazy, that it hadn’t really occurred to her that Lucas would kill her for trying to take his throne?

“Shall I assume you don’t wish to fight?”

She nodded tightly and flushed, her shoulders hunching in like a beaten dog.

Was that it, Valerie wondered? Was Marion really giving up now?

Lucas seemed impatient. “Kneel.”

Marion looked back, frantically trying to catch sight of Rachel who was leaning forward in her chair as though ready to spring forward and rescue Marion if she had to. Val could see Marion's will deflating before her eyes, like melting snow in the bright sunshine.

Trembling, Marion fell to her knees, head bowed, cowering slightly away from him as though to protect
herself
from a blow.

Rachel moved from her chair, coming forward and standing behind Marion, her hand on Marion’s head to protect her.

He looked to Rachel, “I expected more from you. You were supposed to keep her under control.”

Rachel spoke calmly and angrily, “It was the Fey, they killed her daughter and now you want to bring them back to the world. She snapped.”